


I reckon I can try

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur teaching Reader how to ride a horse, Dialogue Heavy, First Kiss, Fluff, Horses, Phobias, equinophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: From a tumblr request, Arthur helps the Reader work through their fear of horses and they help him with his own fear in return.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/GNReader, Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	I reckon I can try

There was a thundering of hooves and you instinctually felt your whole body clench. Terror shot through you like a hot iron, nearly making you stagger in place. You whirled, frantically searching for the source of the noise. Arthur Morgan sat tall and smiling atop his horse, a soft silvery gray mustang with a solid black line down his back and long black legs that faded up to the softer gray of its body. His mane and tail were ebony, the color of the night sky in a patch of starless void. It snorted, coming to a stop by rearing onto its back legs, its front feet pawing wildly at the air in front of it.

“Easy, easy, boah,” Arthur urged him. The horse landed on its front feet with a thud that shook the ground, nickering and shaking his head, pinning his ears back and chomping on its bit with a bluster of air. Arthur chuckled low in his throat as he swung down and patted his neck. “That’s my boah,” he assured it, scratching behind its ears until it calmed and leaned into his touch.

You stood at the table, your chore entirely forgotten in the wake of terrible fear. The blood had drained from your face and you swallowed hard, your throat clicking. Arthur glanced around the camp, waving to a few across the way, calling out a greeting to John and Hosea. Then he met your eyes, just fifteen or so feet from him. His brow furrowed.

“You okay, Y/N?” When you could finally get your mouth open to speak, it was dry.

“I, um,” you cleared your throat, “I’m fine,” you lied.

“You shoar don’t look fine,” he chuckled, approaching and now you felt your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“It’s nothing. Really.” Arthur regarded you for a long moment, and you got the sensation he was reading you as one would read a book.

“Forgive me for sayin’ it, and forgive me more for pointin’ it out, but bein’ afraid of horses ain’t ‘nothin’, Y/N.” You twitched a little in shock.

“How did you know?” you asked softly.

“You never want to go out on jobs unless they involve a wagon. You walk everywhere you can’t get a wagon to, and even in a wagon, you ride in the back. I’ve seen you do just about every camp chore there is, but you ain’t never set a brush to a horse, nor given ‘em hay. And when I come runnin’ up with Ghost just now, weeeeell,” he drawled the word out long and thoughtfully, “you looked more fit to take the name than he is, your face all pale and your eyes wide as saucers.” He laughed a little, but his face was kind, as were his eyes. You hadn’t known Arthur long, but for all of his bravado and fearless aggression in the face of threats to the gang, he was kind to those he liked and gentle with anyone who deserved it.

Arthur took a step toward you.

“Tell you what, I reckon I can help you with that fear of yours, if you’ll let me. Whaddya say?” You swallowed and looked down at your feet, still ashamed of your fear. Even if you hadn’t had a perfectly good reason to be afraid of horses, aside from those long legs and wide teeth and nearly a ton of weight, you didn’t want to admit it to him. No, it didn’t matter the reason for your fear, what mattered was that it was crippling. You were an outlaw for God’s sake, what kind of outlaw didn’t ride a horse? You needed to get past it. You needed his help, and he was offering it to you freely. Still, surely he had more important things to do? You thought all of this in the time it took for him to blink and you answered.

“I know you’ve got more important things to do, Arthur…” He opened his mouth to argue, so you held up a hand to stop him, “But if you really want to, I would surely appreciate it.” Arthur smiled widely and you got the sense that your acceptance of his help was something of a relief to him. You thought belatedly that perhaps beating people half to death for money, or threatening to shoot them as you stole their belongings probably got old, especially for a senior gang member. Perhaps Arthur really did want to help someone for a change.

You knew that Arthur preferred pulling con jobs with Hosea, but his sheer size made everyone give him the tasks that required force, that required mercilessness and cruelty. You saw in his eyes that he needed this as badly as you did.

“So,” you asked, your voice shaking, “Uh, where do we start?”

“Well, I reckon knowing just why exactly you’re afraid of ‘em would be as good a place as any.” Your stomach clenched.

“The fact that they’re a ton of pure muscle balanced on four sledgehammers with a mouth isn’t reason enough?” you snarked and Arthur actually rolled his eyes at that. “They’re dangerous at both ends and unpredictable in the middle,” you went on, quoting a short story from a newspaper you’d read recently. Arthur laughed outright at that, but he held a hand up.

“Now, I ain’t laughin’ at you, Y/N, but I’ll be damned if that ain’t a phenomenal way to describe a horse,” he admitted. Arthur stared at you for a moment, his hands on his gunbelt. “Well,” he drawled again. “We’ll start out by spendin’ some time with one then.”

“W-with Ghost?” you asked, your eyes flicking with dismay to Arthur’s half-feral stallion. Arthur huffed a small laugh.

“Naw, not Ghost. How about Taima? She’s steady, and she’s small.”

“I don’t think I can…”

“You can, Y/N. You ain’t gonna get no closer than ten feet to her. I’m gonna have you sit at the table and rub some of the scuffs outta Charles’ tack while I brush her and tend to her mane. Come on.” Feeling lightheaded, you followed him obediently, sitting at the indicated table and grunting softly when Arthur handed you the saddle. You went to work, scrubbing at the leather, looking up occasionally, your heart thudding hard in your chest whenever Taima would snort or paw the ground, but she just stood, calm and quiet, no malicious intent whatsoever on her mild, shapely face.

Arthur would make observations every once in a while between the one-sided conversation he had with the mare as he groomed her, telling her what a good girl she was, and how fine her coat was and that she was “awright,” in that delightful drawl of his. You would respond whenever he spoke to you, but conversation was stilted at first. You didn’t really know him that well, and he certainly didn’t know you very well, though you appreciated him trying to help you.

An hour or so later, once Taima had been brushed to a shine and her mane and tail were meticulously braided, Arthur approached, taking the saddle from you and setting it on the hitching post.

“So,” he began, “not so bad, huh?”

“I, uh, I guess not,” you admitted, but you didn’t really think it had helped. Your heart still pounded at the thought of being near a horse, your breath still got short whenever Taima stomped or moved. But with Arthur there, you didn’t feel as panicked, didn’t hear the blood rushing behind your ears so loudly.

Arthur found you the next day.

“Come on,” he demanded. It was clear it wasn’t a request. This time it was Nell II, Uncle’s tired-looking Kentucky Saddler. Arthur repeated the process, and this time the conversation wasn’t so one-sided. You shared stories of your childhood, both of you occasionally joking and laughing as Nell II idly allowed Arthur to groom him. When the hour was up, you found you were surprised and actually a bit disappointed, though your heart still pounded when Nell II kicked out hard at a massive fly. You let out a fearful noise, feeling your cheeks go red with embarrassment, but Arthur didn’t make a big deal out of it, or mock you.

“You’re alright,” Arthur assured you, and you met his eyes, willing it to be true, willing yourself to be brave. “You go on and get back to your work. I’ll take care of things here,” Arthur told you, as though he could see that you wanted to run. You swallowed, tipped your hat gratefully, and fled.

Arthur didn’t call you the next day, and you found your relief was mingled with a bit of disappointment. Arthur’s stories were fascinating, and he had listened to yours with genuine interest.

You were eating the next day when he called you, and you followed him to the usual place dutifully. Nearly every day, except days after minor setbacks, Arthur brought you near the horses, giving you a task to do as he groomed them or trimmed their hooves or just scratched them while he told stories and chatted with you.

A few weeks in, you were surprised to find that your heart didn’t start beating hard at the thought of horses. Instead, at the thought of horses, you thought of Arthur’s kind face, his strong hands, his gentle words. Bit by bit, he was tearing away the fear and replacing it with his kindness.

“Come on, Y/N,” he called, and you came readily, excited for the chance to talk to him again. It was infrequent that he was available to chat any other time, and you were still surprised he always made time for this in his day. “Naw, now, not over there. Not this time,” he told you and your face went numb.

“What?” you asked, your eyes going a bit wide. He had Taima again, reliable, calm and obedient.

“You’re gonna come and stand right here,” Arthur told you, indicating the place next to him where he had set a bucket full of brushes and combs. “You’re gonna hand me the brushes and things when I ask for ‘em.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” Arthur met your eyes and his face was resolute. “You _can._ Trust me. You got this in you, Y/N. Now, come on. Ain’t got all day.” You swallowed hard and Arthur extended a hand. “Come on, Y/N.” Your steps forward were stilted, almost as though your knee joints didn’t work, but bit by bit, you managed to overcome your terror and you joined him next to Taima, who ignored you entirely. “Good,” Arthur said softly, putting a hand gently on your shoulder. “I’m proud-a you, Y/N. You done real good comin’ over here.” You met his eyes, expecting that he was mocking you as so many other people had done, but his expression was earnest. He meant what he said. He was proud of you. Your chest warmed and your fear-frozen face thawed into a small, nervous smile.

“Thanks, Arthur.” Arthur nodded and removed his hand almost as an afterthought.

“Alright. Time to work. Curry comb, please.” Arthur took his time, thoroughly rubbing out Taima’s coat, switching to a stiff body brush next, then a softer one, then finally a soft rag to rub her down with. He took a comb and added some oil to her mane and tail, brushing the tangles from them as you stood stock still, only moving to hand him the requested tool.

By the time the grooming was done, you were drenched with sweat. Arthur huffed a small laugh.

“Why don’t you go and take yourself a bath? Miss Grimshaw’s like to give you a hard time.” You were mortified, but relieved to have a reason to leave.

Arthur didn’t let up though. Every day a different horse, every day a different small task, every day you standing nearer to the horse than you’d prefer, but every day it was easier, and every day Arthur told you a little more about himself, and you told him a little more about yourself, and every day you thought less about the hooves and teeth and terror and you thought more and more about spending time with Arthur.

It took nearly two months, but one day Arthur handed you a carrot. He nodded his head toward Old Boy.

“Go on,” he said, “give it to him. You don’t have to hang onto it, just keep your fingers tucked back if it will make you feel better.” You started to approach, but no, you couldn’t, you just couldn’t and you balked, your breath going fast, your vision fading at its edges as terror filled you again. You felt ashamed, felt your teeth clench. Why was this so hard? You felt someone come up close behind you, felt someone almost embracing you. Arthur, holding you from behind, his chest bumping against your back, his left hand on your left shoulder, his right hand supporting yours holding the carrot. His face, you realized, was right beside yours, his chin at your shoulder. “You’re alright. Come on, now, you can do this, Y/N.” You felt the front of Arthur’s thigh bump the back of your leg, making you take a step forward, not forcefully, but firmly. You swallowed. Somehow, with him right behind you, you weren’t so scared. Through his contact with your back, you could feel his heart beating in his chest, slow and steady.

Another step.

Another. Old Boy nickered and reached his nose forward, taking the carrot with his fuzzy lips, munching on it as it slipped from your grip. You realized that you hadn’t breathed since Arthur had stepped up behind you. He let you go and you scrabbled back, but your eyes were wide with excitement, not fear.

“I did it!” you declared, feeling a bit foolish for such a small victory, but Arthur was beaming.

“You sure did, Y/N. I’m proud of you,” he told you again, and your chest felt warm and tight as he met your gaze.

Again, Arthur repeated the process every day, slowly and steadily, never rushing you, but pushing you to do a little better, to challenge yourself and your fear. And it worked. Soon, you found that you could bring hay to the outskirts of the area where the horses were kept, and you could stay long enough to spread it so they could all have some. After more work, you could occasionally let Taima bump her head against your hip, and you could offer her a sugar cube from a flattened palm.

Not long after that, you could brush a horse, then you could saddle one. At last, at long last, you thought that _maybe_ you could even ride one, but you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in camp, so you never asked.

“Come on, Y/N,” Arthur declared one clear afternoon, patting the seat next to him on the wagon he had hitched to Taima and his own horse Ghost. You swallowed and he smiled. “Got some errands need doin’.”

“Why have you got Ghost hitched up to the wagon for, Arthur?” Lenny asked, chuckling. Arthur shot him a dark look and Lenny widened his eyes, realizing his mistake when he saw you clambering into the wagon. “Y’all have fun now,” he finished, clearly feeling bad, but you were too nervous to be bothered by his pointing out Arthur’s poorly-disguised ruse to get you and a couple of suitable horses for riding out of camp.

Arthur drove the cart out into the country side until he stopped in a wide swath of prairie covered in wildflowers and soft, wispy grass. He climbed down and you followed, watching as he unhitched the horses and saddled Ghost. Wordless, your heart thundering in your chest, you saddled Taima.

“You know, you owe Charles a drink for lettin’ us borrow his horse so often. Poor fella’s been stuck in camp more than he prefers,” Arthur chuckled, keeping his tone light so that you could stay calm.

“I reckon I owe you both,” you admitted. “You especially.” Arthur paused as he hitched Ghost to the side of the wagon. He met your eyes intently.

“You don’t owe me nothin’, Y/N. Look, I…I ain’t exactly the most emotional type but, well, I get tired of doin’ nothin’ but robbin’ and hurtin’ folk. Feels good to help somebody for a change. And horses? Well, horses is one of my favorite things. Means a lot to get you to like ‘em.”

“Why?” you asked, suddenly curious. After everything between you, all the time spent chatting and laughing and sharing lunches and working side-by-side, what made you so important?

“Because,” Arthur reddened and he scratched nervously at the back of his head, “because I reckon you’re another one of my favorite things, Y/N,” he answered, giving a self-deprecating laugh. You weren’t sure how he meant that exactly, but it made you feel good.

“You…you’re one of my favorite things too, Arthur,” you admitted softly. “All this time, working with me, being so patient, so gentle. It means a lot.”

“Alright, well,” Arthur cut off any further discussion, the tips of his ears still burning red, “I reckon we ought to get to it. You know how to get up on a horse?” You knew the basics, but the mechanics themselves required practice, and less nerves than you were feeling right about now. Arthur stepped up behind you, helping you place your foot in the stirrup, helping you pull your weight up. You settled into place atop Taima’s back and he held the reins, looking up at you where you sat, frozen. “You’re alright,” Arthur assured you. “I’m gonna lead her around. You just relax, keep your feet in the stirrups. Heels down. There you go. You just hang on to the horn, or her mane if you need to.” With that, he began to lead the mare around, you hanging on for dear life, but after a while, you felt yourself relaxing. After a while it felt less like hanging onto a wild animal and more like enjoying freedom with a four-legged friend.

Arthur stayed alongside you after he handed you the reins, gently showing you how to slow, stop, steer. You were sure it must have been terribly boring for him, but he seemed to have saint-like patience for you, chuckling when Ghost nickered, feeling left out.

“You’re alright, boah. You’ll get your turn.” True to his word, he eventually let you ride Taima slowly around without him next to you. Your heart was still beating fast, but you weren’t panicked so long as Arthur was with you. He climbed onto Ghost and trotted around, telling you a story of a time when he was younger and he had pickpocketed the governor of Ambarino territory, or so he said. You weren’t entirely certain he was telling the truth given the wicked twinkle in his eye. The story was convoluted and funny, and you found that with laughter came calm. This really wasn’t so bad.

As the sun began to set, Arthur helped you down from Taima. You found you were sore from sitting in the saddle, but you were excited at your progress, and Arthur was excited for you too.

“I know I’ve said it plenty, but I’m proud of ya, Y/N. Real proud.” His gaze went a little distant.

“You alright?” you asked him, frowning.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were sad. “Just remembering the last time I taught somebody how to ride. Anyway, best we head back.” You frowned, concerned, but you said nothing, just obediently got into the wagon once he had harnessed the horses to it. When you got back to camp, he insisted on thoroughly grooming them and feeding them, which you could now do without hesitation, but still, he was distant, not himself. You worried, but you kept your feelings to yourself.

A week later, he took you out on another ride. Your conversations were superficial, nothing too personal, and it saddened you. Nevertheless, even with his sudden distance, Arthur still took time to help you work with the horses, still helped you process your fear and build up confidence. He even bought you a little pony, an old, sluggish animal named Chestnut.

A month later and you were good enough at riding your pony that you felt you could race Arthur. You lost, badly, but you were proud to have tried. He was proud too, but still, he was distant, more quiet than usual.

A month after that and Dutch insisted you help with a stagecoach robbery. You could hardly say “no” to the man who had allowed you into the gang, but still, you were nervous. In the firefight, Chestnut was shot at, and he panicked, bolting and bucking suddenly. You found yourself on the ground, the wind knocked out of you, your eyes wide and your chest aching. You managed to suck in a breath and looked after the fleeing animal. He was long gone, and no amount of whistling would bring him back. You weren’t sure you wanted him to come back. There was that fear again, that terror.

How could you have ever thought you could get on a horse? It was crazy. They were dangerous, wild, unpredictable. Gunfire brought you back to the moment and you nearly bolted, but suddenly a massive stallion darted in front of you. A big hand reached down for you.

“Come on, Y/N. Chestnut’ll find his own way back to camp. We gotta get while the gettin’s good.” You looked up, up, up to where Arthur was sitting, on that massive, flighty stallion, remembering the fear, the pain of being thrown, remembering all the reasons why you couldn’t do this…

“I _can’t,”_ you whispered. Arthur leaned down intently.

“You can. Come on. If you don’t get back on a horse now, after you been thrown, you’ll never seat one again. You can do this, Y/N. I _know_ you can.” His voice was certain, sure, so much more sure than you had ever felt about your ability to overcome your fear. But then, the way he was looking at you…the time you had spent together, the trust you had built… Yes, you remembered all the reasons you _couldn’t_ do it, but then you looked straight into the eyes of the reason you _could_.

You swallowed, puffed out a breath and took his arm, letting Arthur help you sling up behind him. Afraid of falling, you wrapped your arms tightly around his big barrel-like chest and clung for dear life as he took off like a bullet, darting along the road before cutting to the side, Ghost leaping gracefully over a log, but when he landed it made your teeth clatter together and you gasped in a hard breath.

Arthur pulled Ghost to a stop in a wooded area, climbing down and helping you down as well. You smiled suddenly, realizing that you had just ridden _Ghost!_

“See, Y/N, I told you you could do it,” he said in a proud tone, but he was holding himself back, not saying something.

“Arthur,” you said softly, a small frown etching into your features, “why didn’t we go back to camp?”

“Because I can’t take it no more, Y/N, and I had to talk to you, had to tell you,” he admitted quietly. “I thought I could, I thought I could go on with what we’ve been doing, but I can’t.” Your eyebrows rose.

“I…didn’t realize you enjoyed this so little,” you finally said. He scowled, rubbing his face.

“Naw, that…that ain’t what I mean, it’s just that…” Arthur turned to you, put his hands on his hips, his face going soft, desperate. “Helpin’ you…talkin’ with you…touchin’ you…” Arthur stepped closer. “I know it ain’t somethin’ you wanted from me, and I’ve been tryin’ to have some damn self-control, but I can’t no more. When I’m near you, I just…look, I’ve been close to…someone before and it just got the both of us hurt. This time I’m the only one who needs to get hurt. So, I reckon we can call it done. You can seat a horse just fine, and I…I’ll let you alone after this. You don’t have to worry about chattin’ with me, or helpin’ me with the horse chores, I’ll manage them…”

“Arthur,” you called, and you realized that this time he was the one who was afraid. Arthur swallowed, met your eye. You reached a timid hand out, cupped his jaw. “You can do this. You’re alright.” He took a gasping breath, shook his head, pulling away from you.

“No, I…it don’t never turn out right, it’ll all just go to hell again, and I can’t, I can’t do this,” he half-whimpered, the pain in his voice like a spear to your heart.

“You can. I know you can, Arthur,” you assured him. You pulled him close again and pressed a soft, brief kiss to his lips. He met your eyes, his own filled with uncertainty, fear. You smiled warmly. You hadn’t known you wanted this, up until now you had been content with Arthur as a friend, but like a puzzle piece, it all slid into place. The warmth you felt around him. The affection you felt toward horses now, because you associated them with Arthur. The soft scent of him, horse hair and saddle leather and tobacco. “You helped me with my fear. Let me help you with yours.” You interlaced your fingers with his. “No matter what the past may have held, no matter the reason why you’re afraid of this, it’s worth trying again, Arthur. If I learned nothing from the past few months, I learned that. I never thought I’d ride a horse, and not five minutes ago I was riding Ghost! So if you want this…if you want me, I know we can do this together.”

Arthur’s hand was trembling, but he put it behind your neck, pulled you close and kissed you, his lips warm against yours. He smiled shyly. All this time, him being the brave one, and now it was you who was encouraging him.

“I reckon I can try.”


End file.
